If you like it, save it!

If you like something…

I’ll be honest, I’m still waiting for that mystery basket of produce to appear on my apartment doorstep. You know the one -- the pile of produce that materializes from your neighbors, exhausted from harvesting zucchini and even more so from eating it. It’s akin to the folklore dropping of an orphan: “here, you take it, I can’t deal with it anymore.” I love that basket. I wait for that basket.

I’m beginning to get the sinking feeling that it isn’t coming, this year or in any of the ones following. I live in a Brooklyn apartment building where the concrete is particularly infertile, but it isn’t that. I have a theory that the orphan baskets of produce are going the way of dial-up internet because people are making this pesto. It inspires a waste-not philosophy, but also, unfortunately for me and my doorstep, it inspires greed. I have half a mind to make some myself.

I have a serious thing for any food topped with a fried egg, a strange kind of disdain for overly soupy tomato sauce, and I can never make it home without ripping off the end of a newly-bought baguette. Most of my daydreams involve cooking in a yellow-walled kitchen.